Child's Play

In high school, my class read portions of "Waiting for Godot" and I can't say I remember much about it, except we all knew the characters were waiting for God and we all knew God wasn't going to show up. My dad was really excited when he heard my class read bits of it, especially the clown/servant speech. He thought the whole thing was fascinating. When a movie version came out (I have no idea what the year was), my dad took my mom to see it or rented it or something, I think for a date night. He told me it was so fantastic, and my mom told me she wanted to die. She said it felt like four hours watching two guys by a dead tree. I looked at the Beckett site and found this guinea pig production of the play. http://www.musearts.com/cartoons/pigs/godot.html I liked it; I just totally got what was supposed to be said and when the guy and the servant walks across, I laughed, because I remembered that part. The whole thing was about three minutes. My roommate walked out after about ten, maybe fifteen seconds. I kind of prefer the guinea pig version to the actual play, but I'm glad I know enough about the play to understand why three minutes of silent blinking guinea pigs are funny.
Anyway, I was thinking about the five moments where you can tell Beckett is creating fiction, and while reading Molloy, I finally realized that the whole thing was creating fiction. I know we talked about it, but I kept reading, "I think, I don't think. . ." It was this or that.. . the way he talked about the setting and the people reminded me of children playing with doll houses or playing pretend. "A little dog followed him, a pomeraian I think, but I don't think so." When little kids tell you stories, don't they say this? I was at a preschool over winter break, and I was having a conversation with a little girl with pretend telephones. At some point, she was having a conversation with the phone (I'd say she was pretending, but she was really having a conversation, listening and responding). When she was done, I asked her who she talked to. "Oh, my mom." She sighed. "Oh yeah?" "Yeah, she wants to . . . (sometimes three year olds are hard to understand, but I think she said something to the effect of her mom wanting a new carpet or traveling??) "Really?" I asked. "No."
These kids made up all sorts of stories, and when I asked them to clarify or if I said, "Really?" they would either say, "No-" With that look on their face that told me I was stupid or they would say, "Oh yeah!" And they would make a bunch of elaborate details before getting sidetracked and coming up with a new story. I was just struck by Beckett in Molloy, and how much he reminded me of those kids. He comes up with little side stories or characters, and he seems to get close to them, but then he dismisses them so easily. He seems to explore the imagination and the art of writing, in a cynical little kid kind of way, and I think it's intriguing. I think everyone does it at some point. It makes life interesting. And that brings me to Haroun too, (and I was really excited when I found this spot) because he says, "I've disbelieved only too much in my long life, now I swallow everything, greedily. What I need now is stories, it took me a long time to know that, and I'm not sure of it." "What is the use of stories?" Also in Pullman's Amber Spyglass. "Tell them stories. . . " I'll end with the story. My best friend and I liked to make up stuff, I guess you might call them lies, but they were so ridiculous, I didn't see why people should believe them (and I actually now prefer stories that are true, but don't seem like it, i.e. my friend Mark, who is a story). Anyway, my best friend and I usually got a ride from my other friend and her dad. My little sister got a ride with us too. One day, she got a ride from my mom, because she had some project due and had poster boards and whatnot. Later on in the afternoon, my friend asked me where my sister was that morning- she just noticed or remembered that she wasn't there. I told her she had an Anne Frank project. Christy- my friend- asked why that should matter. I said, because my sister really wanted to get to know the character of Anne. She was going to walk to school, because that's what they did back in the day, but then a family friend said, why let her walk when she can ride in a horse and carriage like everyone did in the early 1900s. ("Really?" Christy said- that's so cool. . they still rode in carriages?) Well, it was more like an open wagon, but she still got the feeling for it. The bumpy seat and the fresh smell of horse poo. She totally felt like Anne. And my other friend, who was listening said, "Wait a minute- wasn't that like WWII era?" I would think they'd have bikes or automobiles or something." I said probably. I didn't know that Anne Frank ever rode around in a horse drawn wagon. She probably didn't. Christy was mad for a second, because she believed me, but then she said she was just too gullible. I agreed, but I had a good time. The end.